


you did a number on me (but honestly, baby, who's counting)

by thelilacfield



Series: there is no world where i am not yours [28]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Office, Boss/Employee Relationship, Choking, Christmas Party, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, The Author Regrets Nothing, authority kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:54:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28327134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelilacfield/pseuds/thelilacfield
Summary: “The whole office doesn’t know! Wanda...I mean, Ms. Maximoff, has no idea! And I would like to keep it that way!”“I didn’t know our boss was blind and deaf. All you fucking do is stare at her like you want her to walk all over you in those power suit and stilettos.”“Sam-”“And look, in the spirit of the season, you could ask her to do a little giving - or taking, I don’t know which way you like it-”“Sam!”
Relationships: Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Series: there is no world where i am not yours [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859725
Comments: 6
Kudos: 84





	you did a number on me (but honestly, baby, who's counting)

**A/N:** This all happened because of that one shot of Vision typing in one of the _WandaVision_ TV spots. So Merry Christmas, fandom. Have some filth!

I'm on Tumblr and Twitter **@mximoffromanoff** if anybody wants to chat about all things scarletvision! Enjoy, and please let me know with a comment if you do :)

* * *

**RE: CHRISTMAS PARTY**

**FROM: HR@SHIELDTECH**

**CC: [ALL STAFF]**

_Happy Holidays to all staff!_

_The office holiday party will take place this Friday, and HR would like to take this opportunity to remind staff of the rules applying to this one night a year we encourage all staff to let their hair down and have some fun._

_1\. Please do not bring your own alcohol to the party. Drinks will be provided by the planning committee. We wouldn't want anyone disgracing themselves._

_2\. If you are bringing a guest to the party, their information must be passed along to HR by Thursday at 12pm._

_3\. Partners and spouses are welcome, but children are not allowed. We apologise if this is a dealbreaker, and hope you can get a sitter next year._

_4\. Outfits must be appropriate. If there is a question on whether it's appropriate, err on the side of caution and wear something else._

_5\. Transport is not our responsibility, and it will be up to the individual to find transport home or book a room in our host hotel._

Running a comb through his hair again, Vision adjusts the collar of his shirt in the mirror. The glitter of the novelty Christmas tree tie is already coming off on his hands, clinging to the lapels of his blazer, and he scrubs his hands over his slacks, desperately checking his reflection again. He wants to look good, and even the thought of that brings a frantic flush to his cheeks. He shouldn't want to look good for any reason except looking back at the photographs of him and his friends in the office in a year or two. Maybe when he's moved on from being the secretary to the CEO.

But if he's honest with himself, he knows that there's a reason he's wearing a suit to the party this year instead of a novelty Christmas jumper. He's broken the pact of having a competition with a few friends every year for who can have the ugliest Christmas jumper, and relegated his festive spirit to just the tie and some novelty glasses someone will undoubtedly steal from him. And he's all done it for some misguided crush on his boss. Not just his boss. The CEO of the entire company.

As he leaves his apartment for the waiting cab, belting his coat around himself as his polished shoes click down the stairwell, he makes himself a promise that he won't embarrass himself tonight. Too many people already tease him about having a crush on the CEO, and he won't fan the flames. He will be professional and cool and calm and collected. It doesn't matter how attractive he finds Wanda Maximoff, because it is entirely inappropriate to like her.

The moment he steps into the office party, Sam is rushing across the room to him, a tequila shot in each hand, and cheerfully declaring, "Bottoms up!" as he smashes his glass into Vision's and drains it.

"Sam, I don't want to get drunk-"

"What's the point of the holiday party if you don't cane the open bar for all it's worth?" Sam asks, pulling a bottle of beer from the pocket of his blazer. "Lovely tie. Very fetching."

"And I, um...like the jumper," Vision says, glancing at the garish green and red _thing_ Sam is wearing. "Are those reindeers...dancing?"

"They're fucking," Sam says cheerfully, and then the corner of his mouth curls into a smirk. "Like you could be doing if you play your cards right tonight."

" _Sam_ , people can _hear_ you," Vision hisses, the tips of his ears flaring red and hot.

"Please, the whole office knows you have a crush on the big boss-"

"It's true," comes the input from a passing Natasha, who winks at Vision then turns away back to her husband.

"The _whole office_ doesn't know!" Vision insists, lowering his voice as the first of the company executives enters the room, stiff in a suit with his wife on his arm. "Wanda...I mean, Ms. Maximoff, has no idea! And I would like to keep it that way!"

"I didn't know our boss was blind and deaf," Sam says, and Vision flushes darker, no doubt now a terrible contrast to his green tie. "All you fucking do is stare at her like you want her to walk all over you in those power suit and stilettos."

" _Sam_ -"

"And look, in the spirit of the season, you could ask her to do a little giving - or _taking_ , I don't know which way you like it-"

" _Sam_!" He finally succeeds in getting his friend to shut up as the door swings open again, and his jaw immediately drops open. Wanda is walking in, and he expected her to be wearing the sort of suits she wears to the office every day. The suits that look like they were made for her. But she's wearing a dress, and he's staring at her long pale legs in spiky stilettos, her hair loose over her shoulders, the tight sheen of the red velvet clinging to her slender waist and the flare of her hips and the curve of her breasts. He can't _stop_ staring.

"Steady, Vision, you're drooling," Sam says, cutting through the haze of his daydream about his boss sashaying across the room and kissing him in front of all their co-workers. And Vision prises the beer from his friend's hand and chugs it while Sam stares at him wide-eyed. "Okay, I get it. No more teasing. Want another beer?"

"No," he gasps. "I hate beer. But get me a glass of white. Big glass."

"Your wish is my command," Sam says. "You're gonna need two big glasses to get through the Secret Santa presentation. Maybe whiskey?"

"If you get me whiskey, you are also paying for the cab." And Sam just gives him the thumbs up, and Vision sneaks one more glance at Wanda as he follows his friend to the bar. She's been cornered by someone from Marketing, a lecherous smile on the man's face, and he wants to go over there and pull her away into a shadowed corner. He wants to be alone with her, to get the same sweet smile he gets every morning when she arrives to the office. He wants _more_.

By the time one of the executives is finished droning about the figures for the year, Vision is three glasses of wine and one of whiskey deep, and his head is swimming a little. He should know better than to get drunk at the office Christmas party, but as someone from Sales has already been packed off home in a cab after climbing onto a table to dance badly, he's not the worst. And then Natasha is replacing the executive on the podium, the sequins of her black dress catching the light, and announcing, "It's time for Secret Santa! Everyone please find your recipient and present to them!"

And Vision immediately regrets the third glass of wine when he comes face to face with Wanda. She's so beautiful under soft hotel lighting, her hair gently curled around her mostly bare shoulders, the necklace she always wears dipping into the shadow of her cleavage and making it very difficult to keep his eyes on her face. Those stilettos bring her crimson-painted lips five inches closer to his, and when she smiles his heart skips a beat. "I'm your Secret Santa," she says softly, and holds up a bag that's shedding glitter all over her hands. "Merry Christmas."

"Oh... _oh_ , well, I...I'm your Secret Santa!" he stammers out, and offers her the neatly-wrapped present he agonised over in exchange for her bag. And when he opens the bag, he finds a bottle of fancy cologne, a yellow tie of the softest silk, a sleek gold watch, a cashmere jumper, and slams it closed. "Ms. Maximoff, I...I can't accept this, it's too expensive-"

"Vision, I am the CEO of the entire company, I can afford to get my incredibly lovely and incredibly helpful secretary a nice Christmas present," she says, and he hopes that the lighting is dim enough to hide how much he's blushing. "Your watch strap is about to snap, you always smell good and I want to contribute to that, and that cashmere will look gorgeous on you. The blue will match your eyes."

"You notice those things?" he asks softly, and she glances up at him from beneath sooty lashes, his heart pounding and too much of the blood in his body rushing downwards.

"I notice a lot of things," she says, and tears the paper off his present. And he's flushing, biting his lip, sure that it won't be enough, but then she looks up and she's _beaming_. " _Vision_...this is so sweet."

"I hope you like it," he says anxiously. "I made the gloves and scarf myself, because I, um...you're always shivering when you come into the office. And the slippers came out a bit wonky, but you're always wearing heels and I thought your feet could use a break. And I've never tried to make strudel before, so it might not be very good, I-"

"No, no, it looks perfect," she says softly, and there's something shining in her eyes that makes him want to pull her close. "Just like my mom used to make." Her fingers brush past the bottle of champagne with its knitted cover to the candle, and she looks up at him. "Are you in the business of making candles too?"

"No, that is store-bought," he says, and she smiles slightly. "It just...um...it reminded me of your perfume."

"You notice my perfume?" she asks. "I mean, good thing, it's expensive. But you notice it enough to remember in the store?"

"I remember a lot of things about you," he says, and his voice has gone all soft and warm, and he's blushing. But she's smiling, and even as the music starts up again and the party sweeps back into its rhythm he can still see that smile every time he closes his eyes.

"What did you get?" Sam asks when they meet up again. "I got a whiskey tumbler engraved with my name and an elf hat. Not sure what to make of that." Vision shows him a brief glimpse inside the bag and he almost chokes on his beer, gasping, "All _that_? Damn, all I got for mine was a bottle of vodka."

He puts the bag reverently next to his coat in the store cupboard, and returns to the party. As the night carries on, people are drunker and drunker, and some of the couples start to drift home to their children and their beds. But every time he looks up Wanda hasn't left yet, and Sam is determined to stay until the bitter end. As long as he can still look at Wanda across the room, her eyes shining and her hips swaying in that _damn_ dress, he doesn't want to go home. He doesn't want the night to end.

It's only when he goes to the bathroom that he realises how much he's feeling the wine. His head is swimming a little, and he stares at himself in the mirror, tucking the festive glasses into his pocket and quickly rinsing off his actual glasses. Green glitter from his tie is sticking to his white shirt, a grain of it stubbornly stuck to his face, and he gives himself a tipsy smile in the mirror before he turns to walk out of the bathroom.

He runs into Wanda on the stairs back up to the ballroom, colliding with her and immediately pulling away with a mouth full of apologies. And she's just smiling at him, tugging at her skirt, blinking up at him through dark eyelashes, and she points up at the sprig of mistletoe swirling over them. "My father always told me it was bad luck not to kiss under the mistletoe," she says softly, and his entire face is hot before he can try to stop himself. "On the cheek, obviously. No inappropriate boss-employee relations."

"Of course," he says, and hopes she won't notice that his voice is slightly strangled. And he leans down to press a soft kiss to her cheek, his head reeling with the sharp, spicy, _sexy_ scent of her perfume.

When he makes to pull away, her eyes find his, and the tension stretches thin and taut between them, an invisible string pulling them together. And he's not entirely sure which one of them breaks it first, but the next thing he knows they're kissing. His boss' lips are on his, her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling in the hair at the back of his head, her face pressed against his and pushing his glasses painfully into his face. And he pulls away with a soft, "Wait," to slide them off and shove them into his pocket before he's kissing her again.

She grabs at a handful of his hair, _pulls_ , and he groans at the sensation. And her tongue is in his open mouth, slowly exploring, and he can't bring himself to worry about tasting like stale wine or whiskey or any of the finger food from the buffet. He can only think of her, wrapped in her perfume, the way her eyes are shining dark with want when she stumbles away from him, her chest heaving. "How drunk are you?" she asks, and he blinks at her. "Vision. I just made out with my secretary. How much have you had to drink?"

"I know I want this," he says softly. "Wanda...Ms. Maximoff-"

"I think we're past last names, Vision, I now know what you taste like," she says, and the way she says it inexplicably pulls a groan from him. There's something feral about the look in her eyes when he groans because of her, something he wants more of.

"I've wanted you since your first day," he says, and she's smiling, her eyes flickering over him and making him very suddenly aware that he's getting hard. "You walked in, wearing that suit and those heels, and I just...I wanted you. And I'm not doing something right now that I'm going to regret." He swallows thickly and meets her gaze before he says, "I _want_ inappropriate relations."

"It's so cliché to have sex with a co-workers at the office holiday party," she says softly, and he laughs, reaching out to pull her in again. It's intoxicating, being close to her, it makes him want more of her. He wants to kiss every inch of her, glide his fingers over her perfect body, make a map of her body with his lips and tongue.

"Clichés are cliché for a reason," he says softly, and she grins. And he kisses her again, and she arches into him when he cups a hand over the small of her back, gasping against his lips. When they break apart, her lipstick is a smeared slash of crimson, and she looks so wanton that he _throbs_. "Wanda, we have to...we can't do this _here_."

"You're right," she says. "As much as I would love to scandalise those boring execs by getting caught making out with my adorable secretary in a stairwell, I don't really want to get fired." She takes his hand, the brush of her fingertips against his palm sending a spark flying across his skin, and tugs him after her into the elevator.

She crashes him back against the door to her suite, tugging at his tie to pull him closer, the knot pressing into the hollow of his throat and making him groan. And she pulls away, her smile edged with wildness, and tugs again before she whispers, "Noted." Then she's tugging at his blazer, and he's so caught up in the haze of lust that he jumps when he hears the beep of her keycard against the scanner.

She giggles, and he brushes her hair back behind her ear, a gesture that feels oddly tender for the situation they're in. "You're very distracting," he says softly, and she beams and reaches up to kiss him again, and he hazily wonders how much of her lipstick is on his face before they fall through the door and into the privacy of her suite.

Now they're kissing in earnest, the kind of kiss clearly meant to lead somewhere. She's tugging his blazer off and throwing it aside, her hands at the buttons of his shirt, and he's groaning her name against the insistent press of her lips when she runs her hands over his bare chest. "You... _oh God_ ," he groans as her lips find his neck. "You have to lose some clothes too."

"But what if I want you naked and me fully-dressed?" she asks softly, her lips brushing his ear, and he groans at the image that sends into his mind. "That's what I thought about, you know. Every morning I came in and saw you sitting all prim and proper at your desk. I thought about calling you into my office and throwing you across my desk and having my way with you."

" _Fuck_ , Wanda-" She kisses him, and her hands are at the buckle of his belt, and he stumbles to unlace his shoes without breaking the kiss, tossing them aside and tugging at his socks as she shoves at the waistband of his slacks. There is something strangely hot about her still fully-dressed, down to her heels, the velvet of her dress against his bare skin, her earrings and necklace still in place.

"These shoes have been slowly destroying my feet all night," she says softly, and he nods, dazed by the way her lips are moving down his neck, towards his chest. "But if I take them off I'm five inches further away from this gorgeous mouth." She ghosts her fingers across his lips, and he kisses at them, her eyes going dark when he runs his tongue down the length of one. " _Fuck_ , I should've known you'd be filthy. The buttoned-up ones always are."

"I don't think I can keep standing much longer, Wanda," he says, and she smirks. And her legs are wrapped around him, she groans when he curves his hands over her ass to support her weight, and he manages to stagger them across the room to the bed as she nips at his neck.

"Now I can take the shoes off," she breathes, and he laughs before he claims her lipstick-blurred mouth in another kiss. There are two thuds a short moment apart of her shoes being tossed to the ground, and then she's pressing a hand into his chest and pushing him off her and back against the headboard, and he's staring at her as she crawls over him, her eyes gleaming. "Now, do you wanna take off my dress? Or will I do it myself?"

" _Jesus_ -"

"How long have you thought about me naked?" she asks softly, and he's powerless under her gaze, lost to her. She's pulling his hand to the zip at her back, and as he lowers it he can feel that she isn't wearing a bra. He'll have his boss naked on top of him any moment, her lips swollen from kissing him and her eyes dark with how he wants _him_. "Vizh? Babe, how long?"

"Since I met you," he groans as the zip reaches the end of its journey. "Wanda, _please_."

She smirks and reaches down to grab the hem of her dress, and the tilt of her hips pushes the heat of her against his cock, and he groans her name. And when the dress hits the floor with a soft sound he can't do anything but stare, running his hands over her body like she's some priceless sculpture, an ancient piece of art. When he curves a curious hand over her breast, a nipple shoots out into his palm, and she groans, arching her hips to rub herself against his erection. Even through their underwear, he can feel how wet she is, how hot, and he pulls her down into a frantic kiss, all teeth and tongue and gasps.

"You're so beautiful," he gasps when she pulls away, and she's grinning now. Her hands reach down and tangle their fingers together, and he groans her name when she presses his wrists into the mattress above his head, pinning him down. " _Wanda_ -"

"I wonder if you want to call me Ms. Maximoff while we do this," she breathes, her voice all heat and lust, and he groans when she presses his wrists harder into the bed. "What do you think about when you think about us, Vision?"

"Like this," he says softly, gazing up at her. She's so beautiful, dark hair falling in sex-tousled waves over her pale skin, her eyes shining under the soft suite lighting, and she's grinding her hips into his and making it very hard to keep talking in full sentences. "You fuck me like this."

Her free hand toys with the tie still around his neck, tugging slightly to press the knot in his throat, and he groans, arching his hips up to meet her grinding. "How are you so perfect?" she asks softly, and kisses him, and everything is so much, his head spinning, her tongue against his and her hips rolling against his erection, and he tears himself away to gasp for air, to control himself.

"You have to stop," he gasps, and she's still smirking, still moving against him. "Wanda...Ms. _Maximoff_ , stop. I'm going to...and I don't want to...I-"

"Well, we can't have that, can we?" she teases, and the way she's looking at him is doing absolutely nothing to help him control himself. "Not before I get to look at you."

"Actually," he says softly, and he feels absurdly shy for having her on top of him, for having her grinding against his erection, for her hand holding his wrists down and the fact that she's noticed the choking kink he's denied for years, "there is something I could do to calm down."

And her eyes gleam, so wicked and wild and everything he wants, and she climbs off him, spreading herself like a feast on the sheets, dark hair spread out over the perfect white of the pillows. And he kisses her lips once before he moves down her neck, before he takes a nipple in his mouth and her hand tugs at his hair again, and she gasps, " _Vizh_ ," and makes him smirk into her skin. He can wreck her too.

He takes his time with her, making the map of her body he's always wanted. She's so responsive, shivering and moaning and grabbing for any part of him she can reach, and she spreads her legs in a perfect, silent invitation as he kisses a path down her heaving abdomen. And then he has his head between her thighs, and she cries out when he kisses at her clit, and he's surrounded by her, her hips pressing up into his tongue.

" _Fuck_ , baby, oh my _God_ ," she groans, and he grins against her, the roll of her hips into his attention. "Vizh, oh _shit_ , _shit_ , I need...I need a finger, Jesus _fuck_ , make me come."

And then he has a finger inside his boss, and she's clenching around him, crying out his name, her hips rolling against his face, and when she collapses back onto the bed he slowly kisses his way back up her body, returning his attention to her breasts. Until she grabs him by the hair and jerks him up into a bruising kiss, her legs wrapped around him, and he hasn't really calmed down much at all. "Where does a secretary learn to do _that_?" she gasps when they stop kissing, and he grins.

"With instructions from an excellent boss," he breathes, and that same feral edge comes into her eyes.

"You want instructions?" she asks, and he nods. "Take your underwear off and get on your back. Now."

"Yes, Ms. Maximoff," he says, and she's grinning, the way she moves on the bed mesmerising. The flush in her face is spilling down her neck and chest, she's still wearing her necklace and earrings, and when she straddles him and pushes his wrists down into the bed he moans her name. " _Wanda_ , I...I don't know how long I can last, I-"

"We have all night, baby," she whispers, spinning the condom packet in one hand, and leans down to brush a kiss to his lips. "We can call in sick on Monday and take a long weekend."

"They might question you and your secretary disappearing on the same day-"

"What I say goes," she breathes, and her eyes gleam at his groan when she rolls the condom onto him. "I'm the boss."

"Yes you are," he breathes, shocked at himself but so turned on by this entire absurd situation. And she smirks and sinks onto him, and he tosses his head back into the mattress as the tight, wet heat of her envelopes him. " _Fuck_... _fuck_ , I... _fuck_."

"You're fucking big, _Jesus_ ," she rasps out, and he shouldn't be so turned on by that. But he is, looking up at his boss on top of him, the thing he's dreamed about for the entire nine months since she became his boss. And he can't take her eyes off how beautiful she is, the light catching the jewels hung around her neck and dangling from her ears, her eyes shining, her cheeks flushed. And she finds his eyes as she takes the end of that stupid novelty tie in her hand and tugs him up into a frantic kiss. "I have been thinking about this since the day I walked in and saw you sitting all proper at your desk," she breathes, and he whimpers against her lips. "I wanted to _ruin_ you."

"Do it," he breathes, and she grins. Then she's pressing his wrists harder into the bed as she starts to move, short, sharp, hard jerks of her hips, and he presses his head back into the bed, moaning. An endless stream of nonsense is leaving his lips, begging her to go on and on, never wanting it to end. He's concentrating so hard on not coming that he misses her hand leaving his chest and sliding down the flat plane of her stomach, and when he blinks she's touching herself, her perfect fingers circling her clit, and he's staring. " _Wanda_ -"

"Can you wait a little longer, baby?" she asks, and he nods, mesmerised by her fingers moving above where he's disappearing into her. "You feel _so good_ , oh _shit_."

"Let me touch you," he breathes, and she's gazing down at him with half-lidded eyes. "Wanda...Ms. Maximoff, _please_."

"Get up here," she snaps, and it's almost a sob, and he jerks upright and into a kiss, and she cries out when he shifts her in his lap, her hips moving even faster. He's clumsy, but he tries to meet her thrusts, his thumb finding her clit, and she practically _screams_ , his name on her lips, her nails digging into his back when she comes, her body bowed into his.

"Jesus _Christ_ ," she whispers, and kisses his neck, and he groans her name, long and low. And she sits back, moving in long, slow rolls of her hips against him, her gaze never leaving his. "You've been so good, baby. I need to feel you come for me, okay? You can do that, right, baby?" He nods, speechless, and she curls her fingers into the tie and _pulls_ as she breathes, "Come for me."

And he swears he's never come harder than he has when he's inside her, when her fingers are curled into his tie, when her lips crash into his right as he chokes her name. They're both slick with sweat and panting, and when they finally stop kissing she's smiling so softly, removing her earrings and unclasping her necklace without getting off him. " _Fuck_ ," she breathes, and he nods, too dazed to speak. "I guess nine months of foreplay makes for incredible sex."

"We only kissed tonight-"

"Are you going to tell me you've never touched yourself thinking about me?" she asks, and he blushes and ducks his head. "Hey. Don't do that. You're the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen, Vizh."

"That was the best sex I've ever had," he says, breathless and happy, and she smirks.

"Oh trust me, sweetheart, there's a lot more where that came from," she says.

"But...but you're my boss," he says, blinking up at her, dazed from his blinding orgasm. "It's inappropriate."

"We'll have to jump through some hoops from HR, but if male CEOs can fuck their female secretaries I don't see what's wrong with me dating mine," she says.

" _Dating_?" he squeaks, and she nods. "But...we've had sex. I thought that was-"

"It?" she asks, and he nods. "Oh, Vizh, baby, of course it's not. You think I'd risk my whole career for one fuck with my secretary? Even a fuck that spectacular?"

"Oh." He stares at her when she climbs out of his lap, all the dull red marks left from his mouth on her breasts and stomach, and finally finds the faculties to dispose of the condom and move towards her, pressing a shy kiss to her shoulder. "You want to...date me?"

"I did plan on actually asking you out, not fucking you at the Christmas party," she says softly, and he shakes his head, curling an arm around her and pulling her into a kiss.

"I liked it," he says, soft and shy, and she smirks. "I would like to...do it again."

"Round two already?" she asks as he pulls her back on top of him. "What are you, a teenager whose parents left you alone in the house for an hour?"

"No, I'm a twenty-eight year old who's crazy about my boss," he says, and she softens, glowing at the edges. "We've already wasted a lot of time, Ms. Maximoff."

"Fuck, come here, you adorable kinky little shit," she breathes, and kisses him.


End file.
